/b/ is not of substance, nor time, it is intangible and inperceivable; a paradox of existence. It is where the world's most powerful yet disturbed minds go to roam and contaminate. It is thought to be perceived as horrible even by its regulars, for it is. But to the dark minds that roam /b/, horrible is a mild value. /b/ is darker than Hell's deepest circle after the last ember has been extinguished. /b/ is where minds, dreams, hopes, sanity, innocence and morals die and inexplicable addiction festers.

/b/ is where Earth's darkest minds go to mingle amongst their own kind in a disorganized mess of offensive, random dialogue. /b/'s regulars have seen more gore, genitalia, insanity, racism and pure unfathomable random offensiveness than Zeus, the Greek god of lightning (and fornicating with mortals). In /b/, gore, genitalia, insanity, racism and pure unfathomable random offensiveness are tangible daggers that are incessantly flying around in a flurry of the darkest inner thoughts of world’s darkest minds giving the foundation of a ubiquitous gloom amongst the lost, innocent minds that wander ignorantly unto the realm. /b/ renders the most innocent minds cripplingly depressed and disturbed.
/b/ is the man urinating in the corner of a subway car.

/b/ is the guy who tells the cripple ahead of him in line to hurry up.
/b/ is first to get to the window to see the car accident outside.
/b/ is the one who wrote your number on the mall's bathroom wall.
/b/ is a failing student who makes passes at his young, attractive English teacher.
/b/ is the guy loitering on Park Ave. that is always trying to sell you something.
/b/ is the one who handed his jizz-drenched clothes to Good Will.
/b/ is one who introduced you first to Goatse.
/b/ is a hot incest dream that you'll try to forget for days.
/b/ is the only one of your group of friends to be secure in his sexuality and say anything.
/b/ is the guy without ED who still likes trying Viagra.
/b/ is the best friend that tags along for your first date and cock-blocks throughout night. The decent girl you're trying to bag walks out on the date, /b/ laughs and takes you home when you're drunk, and you wake up to several hookers in your house who /b/ called for you.
/b/ is a friend that constantly asks you to try mutual masturbation with him.
/b/ is the guy who calls a suicide hotline to hit on the advisor
/b/ is nuking the hard-drive next time someone knocks on his door.
/b/ is the one who left a used condom outside the schoolyard.
/b/ is the voice in your head that tells you that it doesn't matter if she's drunk.
/b/ is the friend who constantly talks about your mom's rack.
/b/ is the only one who understands what the hell you saying.
/b/ is someone who would pay a hooker to eat his ass, and only that.
/b/ is the uncle who has touched you several times.
/b/ is still recovering in the hospital, after trying something he saw in a hentai.

/b/ is the pleasure you feel guilty of when you tried playing with your anus during masturbation.
/b/ is wonderful.

Bam to behold, a public bulletin board, built of both brilliance and barbarity by bastards with boners. This bastion, no mere bulwark of boredom, is a brutal barrage of blistering bullshit, barely benevolent... but behind the bigotry and boobs, beyond the bitter broadcasts of bragging buffoons: here be the body politic. A brotherhood of blasphemy, blessed with more balls than brains, battling the bland, the bogus, the benign. Bedlam? Bring it on. But I babble... better to be brief.

/b/ is where the internet goes to die. Its a place where both God and Satan vow to stay away from. /b/ is where every internet meme ever ends up. /b/ is rule 34. /b/ in is my mind forever. You cant undo /b/, but you can undo your search history.

If /b/ where a city, it would be Manhattan. Beacuse its the only place newfags know about, and all the trash winds up there. But....